Gun Safety
by Enheduanna of Ur
Summary: Never aim a gun at something you don't intend to kill... Series of related and unrelated drabbles on wartime, and her glaring presence in the lives of the nations.   Chapter 6:  Shrinking.   On hiatus.
1. Gun Safety

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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><p>Arthur heard the boy's footsteps, but didn't turn around. His living room was peaceful, and Arthur didn't want Alfred's loudmouthed-ness ruining that. They'd been arguing again, over tea this time of all things. Alfred had thrown a bit of a hissy fit, and if there was anything Arthur couldn't stand it was wasted tea.<p>

Of course, Alfred had a habit of putting ice cubes in it, which ruined it anyway.

Arthur could only see the teenager's shadow, but it was clear that Alfred was holding something, something almost as tall as he was. Something a little heavy, by the wobbly way Alfred was walking, though he was strong enough to keep it upright.

Alfred's shadow turned to the side, and Arthur saw at once that it was a rifle.

"What are you doing with that?" the older man asked quietly, weary of restraining this wild child. "Are you going hunting today?"

The shadow said nothing, but turned slightly. Arthur's eyes widened as he saw the barrel swivel directly toward him.

Alfred had always been a bit of a prankster, but this was going too far. He probably thought it was funny, aiming at his big brother. It was as though Alfred had forgotten all of the things Arthur had taught him about gun safety!

"There you go again, Alfred! If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Never aim a gun at something you don't intend to kill!"

Arthur spun around, glaring furiously at Alfred, before realizing -

that expression.

Alfred had never, in the ages Arthur had known him, looked so serious.

"Oh... I see."


	2. Rosaline

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. But I do live in Alfred. So I have some claim over him, right?

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><p>Arthur stalked through the thick woods of northern Massachusetts, one hand clutching his gun tightly, the other pressed over the wound on his head that was bleeding slowly but steadily. Blood trickled from between his fingers as he searched for a place to set up camp and bandage himself up.<p>

He'd met Alfred at Lexington, and then soon after at Concord, and he'd been caught a little off guard. Alfred had shot at him, but Arthur had ducked backwards and the bullet had grazed his head. Arthur was rather surprised: Alfred was strong, he'd always known that, but he wasn't too bad in battle either.

This would have made Arthur proud if it hadn't been him Alfred was shooting at.

Arthur refused to consider that he may have underestimated his little brother. He found a dry, flat rock for sitting and plopped down, fishing a long bandage out of his shoulder-bag to patch up his head.

He'd just begun to wash the spot with water from his canteen when he heard sniffling.

Carefully, quietly, he began to creep through the underbrush toward the sound. It was coming from a clearing just west of him, peppered with persimmon trees and lit by the blood-colored light of the setting sun. (Arthur wasn't so fond of persimmons, but Alfred loved them.) In the middle of the clearing were two children - no, adolescents, a sniffling boy and a girl with her hands on her hips.

Arthur stifled a gasp when he realized that the crying boy was his very own little brother, the brother who'd been so brave in battle only hours before.

"You stop it now, America! You've done so well. You actually shot at him! Aren't you pleased with yourself, for all the hard work you've put in?"

"Yes..."

"Then dry your tears! You're behaving like a child. It's time to grow up."

The girl's long wavy brown hair was tied in pigtails, making her remark about childish behavior a little hypocritical. She was small and lithe, with skinny hands that sat impatiently on her hips. She was dressed like Alfred, in his army's colors, and her gun was on a strap around her shoulders.

Arthur, who could only see her back, hoped she was not who he thought she was, even though their current situation demanded her presence.

"It's just..." said Alfred shakily. "I still love him. I just wanted my independence, not to be hurting one another."

"That's not what you said last month, when you aimed a gun in his face in his own living room. You worthless coward. One more tear and I'll leave you for good." the girl hissed, her face inches from Alfred's. Arthur wanted to smack her for being so cruel to Alfred, but that's who she was. To expect different was folly.

Arthur didn't need to see her face to remember what she looked like. Those years, with France hammering at his door, back when he'd called her Veronica, and France had called her Aurore... One hundred years of her face was enough to leave it imprinted on his mind.

"But, what about Arthur?" Alfred asked, drying the remnants of his tears on his sleeve. "I can fight him without killing him, right?"

"Fight without killing? Don't make me laugh. Do you know who I am, America?"

"Yes, Rosaline. I know."

"I am War, America. And I don't fight without killing."

Arthur hated her, he hated every inch of her disgusting body. He couldn't even count how many of his people were gone, because of her. Every world power could say the same. She was the very soul of conflict, the personification of warfare itself. Every nation in Europe knew her.

And now America did too. Not knowing who she was, thirsting for independence, Alfred had turned to someone he didn't fully understand. He'd named her, he'd made her his own. And now he would suffer with her.

Backing out was out of the question.

"And don't call him Arthur anymore, call him Britain. You're no longer on a first name basis, soldier."

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><p>This story is going in a different direction than I originally thought. It will still be a series of oneshots and drabbles, some may be connected and some may not. All will be about war and conflict (who now has a face, and will make either guest or regular appearance.) I have big plans for her in WWII, and some stuff about Rome.<p>

I'd love to hear your thoughts, questions, concerns. Tell me your favorite characters and I'll feature them sometime.


	3. Forgotten Faces

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

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><p>"You were so great once."<p>

Immediately after they left his lips, America regretted saying them.

The war was over. He missed his days with Britain, and was intimidated by the daunting task of setting up his own government. Life had turned into a whirlwind of new things, with western exploration and new technology right around the corner.

Most of all, he missed calling Britain Arthur. And he missed being called Alfred. A human name, so simple and yet so intimate. Who would have known how essential a name was to a soul?

Rosaline had faded away when he'd abandoned her, her ugly face still pressed into the corners of his mind. She'd been hysterical when the war began to slow down, becoming shorter and smaller, her voice sounding more like echos than true sound.

She swore she'd be back before long, though, muttering something about trade, slow communication, and 1812. The thought made America nervous.

Weeks passed. Months. Then years.

America forgot.

Sitting on the Virginian coastline with Britain made things seem almost back to normal. Britain had brought scones, though America swore that someday he'd invent something tastier (and preferably loaded with grease.)

"Do you ever think about her face?" Britain said quietly, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he gazed out over the Atlantic. "It's so strange..."

"Whose face?"

Britain turned to his comrade, surprised. True, Americans still squabbled with the Native Americans, who fought bravely for their land, but it wasn't a full-fledged war. It hadn't been that long since the revolution, though...

America genuinely didn't know who he was talking about.

"You know, the girl," Britain clarified. "Who was with you during your revolution. You called her Rosaline. I call her Veronica."

"Whoever she was, she must not have been important!" America chirped, grinning. "I'd have remembered her!"

Britain didn't laugh.

"She _is _important, Alfred. She's _war... _Surely you remember that face. Those teeth."

Still knee-deep in wars with France, sections of India, and even himself, Britain had not forgotten her face. She was with him still, waiting for him when he got home.

The grin on America's face softened as he beheld his friend's seriousness.

"Well," he began, "Can you really picture war until you're in it? Another generation has come and gone. I change, Arthur. We have to forget the past in order to move on. Right?"

"I guess you're right, old chap. But still... Perhaps that's a part of her power. That we can't help but forget her the minute we desert her. Maybe that's why we go to her, time and time again, to help us solve our problems, not realizing what she'll do to us."

"Quit being morbid, dude."

"Oh shut up, Alfred." Britain sighed, the ghost of a smile on his face.

America pushed his glasses up on his nose, and took his own advice to forget the past. It was no use worrying about this Rosaline girl.

He ignored a persistent, unpleasant saying that came to him:

_Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it._

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><p><em>Thus ends my trio on the American Revolutionary War. Next up: Russo-Japanese War. Reviewers, I need to know what you think of war's persona. Your thoughts and opinions are crucial to her character development! You won't fully understand her physical description until WWII. Any and all wars, any and all characters are accepted.<em>


	4. Confidence

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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><p>Ivan knew he could take him.<p>

Little Kiku really didn't stand a chance against him, did he? Ivan had 17,075,400 square kilometers. Kiku had a series of friggin' islands. Ivan's population surely outnumbered Kiku's, and he was certainly more well-known. Yet Kiku had struck the first blow, a move that startled and angered Ivan.

This little Japan-country? Whatever. It hadn't been so long ago that Japan had been in a _feudal system_ for crying out loud.

Of course, Ivan reminded himself rather painfully, there were still serfs on his own lands. He was far behind those western nations like France, Germany, Britain... They really didn't know how lucky they were, to have industrialized so well.

All the same, Ivan _would_ win this war.

He stood up, the smaller countries living in his home scattering to avoid his wrath. That infamous dark aura enveloped him as he wound his scarf around his neck and grabbed up his pipe, grim determination on his face.

_Man, it is going to feel good smashing in that strange little man's head._

Ivan was so preoccupied in his war preparations that he barely noticed the little brunette girl by his side, helping him pack his things. She carried Ivan's bags as he stepped onto a ship, gauging the water, readying himself for sea battle after sea battle.

_This fool Kiku won't stand a chance, _Ivan told himself as he gazed out over the icy sea. _I will call him Japan from now on, then, if he is to be my enemy. I will take him like I take the others. _

Ivan knew he could take him.

When Ivan reached Japanese shores, he found Kiku waiting for him on the shore, dark eyes burning, wind whipping his short hair about his face. For one solitary man, he looked rather frightening.

Still. Ivan would win this war...

Right?

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><p><em>I still need reviews. I am new at writing both chapter stories and characters not in the series. So, no matter who you are, your opinion is valuable to me. What do you think? What would you like to see happen?<em>


	5. Nanami

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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><p>Kiku sat on the pier, his feet dangling into the water. He gripped the edge of the wooden dock with cold hands, fingernails grimy, knuckles bleeding. The sky was absolutely beautiful, aglow with the red sunset.<p>

He found it hard to appreciate the color, considering he'd seen far too much red as of late.

"I'm tired, Nanami."

The brunette behind him turned slowly to face him, though he wasn't looking at her. He did not want to crumple under her gaze, be cowed again by her unnatural teeth. He knew her dark brown eyes would be narrowing in disapproval.

"What did you say, Japan?"

Those eyes... He knew their color so well: it matched his own. He'd been drawn to her in spite of himself, thinking; _She's just like me. She understands me. She can help me. _But, every so often, the color _faltered_. Changed and flickered when she lost her temper, or something had pleased her morbid appetite.

"I said, I am tired."

It hadn't taken Kiku long to realize that their familiar color was a facade as well, as false and empty as the rest of her. She duplicated the eye color of whomever she latched onto, because it made them trust her. Her "true colors", if you will, were far less attractive than a warm, chocolate brown.

"Do not say you're tired. You bring shame upon your entire nation when you say that. This war with Russia must go on. We will not rest until he is gone." Nanami said in a rather deadpan fashion. "Surrender is not an option."

Kiku sighed, squeezing the edge of the dock even harder. "It wouldn't be a surrender. America has offered to hold negotiations between Russia and me, for the purpose of a mutual truce. And why shouldn't I? He's tired, I'm tired! Tired of death. Why shouldn't I negotiate?"

"Because," growled Nanami. "America's a fool. And only a fool trusts him."

"Only a fool trusts War, and yet here she is. I suppose I'm a fool now."

"No one expected you to win, Kiku. They thought you were going to die, they _wanted_ you to die. Japan against Russia? Sheer size should have finished you. But it didn't. Do you want to know why? _Me. _You are strong because of me. You will only become a world power because of _me_! So listen to - "

"No, Nanami. You listen to me." Kiku suddenly interjected. "I am powerful because of my people. And _you_ are powerful because of _me_, not the other way around. Never forget that."

"Do not abandon me!" Nanami snarled. "I will destroy you!"

"I am going to America's meeting, because the last time I checked, I was the spirit and heart of Japan. Not you."

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><p><em>Special thanks to UzumakiShadow and Aagwa . Miyusu for reviewing and leaving me some feedback. <em>


	6. Shrinking

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

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><p>They sat across from one another, preferring to stare at the scratches on the wooden table rather than at each other. They were uncomfortable and quiet. America, trying to diffuse the awkwardness, was chattering on and on about something, but Ivan was not paying any attention.<p>

Masha sat on a stool in the corner, glowering at the men at the table. Ivan would not look at her: the look of betrayal and pure hatred was not pretty, and he didn't think he could handle her wrath right now. The war had been long, the nights cold. Ivan didn't want to look at her at all.

"Well guys, this is it!" America bubbled, smacking his hands down on the table and making the men jump. "Lets discuss this. We're going to take our time and get to the root of the problem. Okay?"

Japan sighed, and Ivan noted that he looked as exhausted as Ivan felt.

"Here's the thing," America said abruptly, more quietly than Ivan had been expecting. "Agreeing to end a war is not a victory, or a defeat. It's just that: agreeing to end a war. And I think that's what you both want right now."

There was a hiss in the corner from the little girl in pigtails. Japan's head snapped sharply to the side as he hissed back, "Nanami, _be silent_."

_Nanami. So that's what he called her,_ Ivan thought. He suddenly could not stop himself, and glanced over at her.

She was perched on a stool, her little feet not touching the ground. Her sickening pale maroon eyes were smoldering, her brown hair barely brushed her shoulders, and her cheeks still had some baby fat. She couldn't have been more than five.

_Hadn't she been older, before? At least fourteen or fifteen?_

"Gentlemen," America said. "I've made a layout of conflict-ending agreements. Would you review them?"

They agreed. They looked at the paper, and found the terms suitable. Ivan looked at Masha again, and found she'd grown even _smaller_. Her pigtails were nubby now, her limbs short. Three years old, maybe?

But still the same look of horrible hate in her eyes. And the teeth... Still the teeth.

"Russia... To peace?"

Ivan looked up to find Japan (no, _Kiku_, Ivan wanted to call him by his first name again) holding out his hand to shake. Without hesitation, Ivan took it. Their grip was brief but firm, and then Kiku turned away to leave.

Ivan looked back at Masha, but the stool was empty.

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><p><em>Is there anything you readers would like to see happen? Any character or scenario? Feedback. <em>


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